Ukrainian mobile firing groups hunt for Russian Shaheds with guns unfit to efficiently down them

Поліна Куліш - 30 September 2025 | 21:07

Poland is intercepting Russian Shahed drones over its territory using expensive air-to-air missiles. These frequent incursions into NATO airspace reveal the alliance’s inadequate preparation for modern drone warfare and its struggle to effectively counter Moscow’s tactics.

Russia has dramatically escalated its drone attacks on Ukraine this year, now conducting up to 800 strikes per night. Moscow is continuously upgrading these drones—increasing their altitude and speed—to evade Ukraine’s mobile firing groups (MFGs), an inexpensive defense method developed as an alternative to costly air defense systems.

Readiness number one

“Fuck. Is everyone seated? I can’t hear you. Are you ready?” “Korsa,” one of the soldiers of 115th Separate Mechanized Brigade’s air defence unit shouts before the engine roars to life. The stillness of August night in Izium district of Kharkiv oblast shutters.

An old Soviet GAZ-66 truck with a mounted—and also Soviet—ZU-23 anti-aircraft gun rushes from its shelter to a sunflower field. “Readiness number one” sends all mobile fire groups to positions—Shaheds launched, arriving in 40 minutes.

Soldiers prepare a cannon for the night shift / Photo: Gwara Media, Liubov Yemets

Korsa and his taciturn teammate “Señor” struggle to climb into the truck. 

“Do you know who designed this vehicle? Kat-sa-py (swear word used for Russians),” platoon commander “Akusher” draws out each syllable.

The men prepared the cannon for battle, silenced the car engine, and even turned off the red lights. They use them instead of white ones because the scattering of red light scattering is less visible from a distance, so Russian reconnaissance drones cannot detect them. 

As the engine cuts, only cicadas break the silence. Above, the Milky Way glows unobscured, evoking quiet nights in a village. 

“Are we loading (the gun)?” “Korsa” asks. 

Another peaceful moment is gone—Russian drones are somewhere in this sky.

Last night, Russia struck Ukraine with over 500 drones and missiles for the first time in months.

“That damn night, the guys opened fire frequently,” says “Akusher.” “Then you check Telegram to see where those bastards (Shaheds) flew. It’s heartbreaking we didn’t shoot down many.”

Russia hit civilian infrastructure across Ukraine—Zakarpattia, Lviv, Zaporizhia, and Dnipropetrovsk oblasts—leaving civilians dead and injured.

“Akusher,” commander of the air defense platoon of the 115th Separate Mechanized Brigade / Photo: Gwara Media, Polina Kulish

When Russia launches airstrikes, reconnaissance has already been conducted or intelligence leaked about a particular object, says “Akusher.” There are no accidental drone swarm hits, he adds, but drone debris from successful intercepts sometimes falls on homes, killing or injuring civilians. Russian drones do target residential buildings directly, though, as happened in Kharkiv on August 18.

Old equipment against modernized war machine

“An old mare cannot become a racehorse. The same goes for our equipment. It works, but its efficiency…” “Korsa” sighs. Soviet equipment was made with the philosophy of “throw as much as possible (at the target), and something is bound to hit.”

The cannon is equipped with the ZIR+ system—a Ukrainian development with optics, rangefinder, thermal imager, and camera. The electronics improve accuracy, but not enough: “God willing, every hundredth shot hits,” says “Korsa.”

The cannon’s range reaches 2,500 meters (1.55 miles). Shaheds fly between 1,500-2,800 meters (0.93-1.74 miles), sometimes up to 3,000 (1.86 miles). If ZIR+ had been installed earlier—when Russian drones flew lower—the system would be more effective.

ZU-23, a Soviet twin anti-aircraft gun used by the military to shoot down Russian drones, equipped with a modern Ukrainian tracking system ZIRplus / Photo: Gwara Media, Liubov Yemets

The Ukrainian military calls them Shahed, and Russians call them Geran—though air defense personnel confirm they’re the same drones. 

Russia also deploys Gerbera reconnaissance drones that circle the frontline or go deep into Ukrainian territory. When Ukrainian forces fire on these drones, they reveal their mobile fire groups positions for Russian strikes “in response.” 

Russia is modernizing Gerberas for enhanced detection capabilities, and some variants now carry warheads for attack missions. 

Ukrainian military personnel identify drone types by sound: Shaheds are heavier, with warheads carrying from 50 kg to 80-90 kg of explosives. Russia has also developed the Geran-3, a jet-powered Shahed variant. Gerberas sound lighter and their primary objective is to map “corridors” for Shahed attack routes.

The Ukrainian military analyzes “corridors” where the drones fly most often and moves its positions accordingly. As in many other areas, the current Russian-Ukrainian war involves constant analysis of the enemy and the search for ways to counter its actions, on both sides.

“We are observing Shaheds in Dnipro, in Lyman, and now in the Kharkiv region—every month they fly higher and higher, faster and faster,” says “Korsa.”

Soldiers prepare a cannon for the night shift / Photo: Gwara Media, Liubov Yemets

Their brigade is transitioning to interceptor drones to chase down Russian drones. 

In July, we reported on Ukrainian forces pushing for more interceptor drones to counter Russia’s modernized Shaheds and EW-resistant fiber-optic drones.

“Russia will devastate our country with Shaheds,” warned military expert Serhii Beskrestnovy back then, adding that Ukraine is out of time to adopt them. 

“Korsa” from Kherson

“Korsa,” 52, has been at his post for six days. His unit once operated on a two-days-on, two-days-off schedule, but manpower shortages changed that. “Days off” in their unit are available to one person at a time—everybody else has to work.

“We’re waiting for reinforcements. There are no reinforcements,” he says.

Even when formally relieved, though, soldiers keep digging defensive positions—to have a backup caponeir in case Russians hit the main firing position. 

“The guys are all exhausted. No one from civilian life wants to join the army,” says “Akusher.”

“Korsa” spent most of his life working for the Ukrainian post office in Kherson, delivering parcels. He fled the city in 2022 after a month under occupation, relocating his family to Vinnytsia. He registered for military service immediately but wasn’t called up until early 2023—likely after security vetting, he thinks.

He’s served in air defense for a year and a half: “Work is work—you don’t choose it, it chooses you.”

“Korsa,” soldier of the air defense crew of the 115th Separate Mechanized Brigade / Photo: Gwara Media, Liubov Yemets

It’s almost midnight, as it’s getting colder. In the distance, somewhere across the Oskil river, the sky lights up constantly. Somewhere out there, fighting is going on around Lyman, Borova, and near Kupiansk. 

The maps do not show any approaching drones.

“Is it often quiet here?” I ask.

“Not lately, but every night is different,” replies “Akusher.” The problem with being on duty is that you never know if the drones will fly or not. The soldiers’ task is to stand their ground.

The soldiers light cigarettes and discuss Krynky, a small village on the Russian-occupied left bank of the Dnipro where Ukraine’s army used to hold a costly foothold. “Korsa” recalls it as a former vacation spot.

He remembers how Russians captured Kherson and doubts adequate fortifications existed between the city and Crimea. 

“Korsa” fell ill on February 23, 2022, and went to the hospital the next day. His replacement called: the mail truck was turned back—Russians had reached Kakhovka. Just within four hours, they covered 40 miles from Crimea and entered Kherson on March 1.

“The roads there are worse than in the Kharkiv region,” Serhii, the press officer who drove us to the soldiers’ position for about an hour on dirt roads, smiles. “And now equipment can’t get through at all—they control all of Kherson with drones.”

“How the war has changed…” “Korsa” sighs. “To win, we need to invent new weapons, like in World War I and II…”

“The secret is simple—knock out their logistics,” Serhii responds, his tone a little condescending.

Sunflower field / Photo: Gwara Media, Liubov Yemets

“When we’re not shooting, it’s boring” 

The radio crackles. The crew stationed on the left bank of the Oskil river comes on the line. 

“These are my boys, I can’t relax until they get in touch,” says “Akusher.”

While ZU-23 anti-aircraft guns are on duty on the right bank, more mobile pickups with American Browning machine guns are stationed on the left bank of the Oskil because it is more dangerous there.

The Russians are slowly but surely approaching the left bank of the Oskil from different points on the frontline, attempting to take the entire west side of the river. It is not easy for Ukraine’s army to cross Oskil as Russian troops target them as they do.

“The Kharkiv region is very beautiful. War is still going, but the harvest is underway, and the land is being cultivated. The only problem is the terrible state of the roads,” says “Akusher.”

Dry weather helps, but after rain, even all-wheel pickups can’t cope. A serious issue is the lack of transport. The unit is forced to repair the available equipment on its own. The soldier hopes for more volunteer support.

“Señor,” a soldier from the air defense crew of the 115th Separate Mechanized Brigade, sits in the gun waiting for the Shaheds / Photo: Gwara Media, Liubov Yemets

“I have a feeling they won’t be here today. Right?” says “Korsa” as the clock strikes midnight.

“God only knows,” replies “Señor.“

“Usually, even if drones don’t fly over us but over Kupiansk or Sloviansk, there’s activity somewhere. Today, we’re checking the map—nothing.”

Two soldiers are on duty at the mobile fire group position. Officially, three should work here, but each soldier is cross-trained to operate alone if needed.

During air raid alerts, they move to their combat position and wait to see if drones enter their area of responsibility—whether at 8 p.m. or 5 a.m.

After their shift, work continues: soldiers collect spent shell casings from the sunflower field, then reload. No one knows when the next attack will come.

“When we’re not shooting, it’s boring. Like the joke about firefighters—you’re waiting for a fire, but when there’s a fire, you might as well quit,” says “Korsa,” laughing at his own joke. 

Man prefers this routine over infantry in the trenches, though, where soldiers can’t lift their heads because of drones.

“If they flew out, they had to land somewhere,” “Korsa” studies a map, puzzled by the Shaheds expected at 11 p.m.

“The bastards might not have made it—crashed or (was) defective,” “Señor” replies with a smile.

“They all flew north and to Pokrovsk,” Serhii suddenly says, checking his phone.

The command “Readiness number two” sounds. The soldiers start the car and drive to the shelter. Although the drones are not flying, their shift continues.

Hi, it’s Polina! While I was writing this report, NATO members were discussing how to address Russian drones and aircraft in their airspace. Now, Ukraine’s transitioning to interceptor drones instead of less effective mobile firing groups. Here in Kharkiv, we are closely following the changes and struggles that people on the frontlines face to keep you updated. Please consider supporting our newsroom on BMC and/or Patreon to keep us going.

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